Winston Murders
by LOTRjunkie14
Summary: Hidden behind the painted faces and the media coverage lies a set of murders, past and present, revealing secrets to frame the guilty and kill the innocent. Will our beloved NCIS team be able to find who is who?
1. Epi 1, Prt 1

**Date: March 20****th****, 2010.**

_Squeak_. _Squeak_. _Squeak_. **Whoosh**.

Cold water to the face, hands to the sink, groan.

This wasn't the life she wanted. Always running. Always hiding. She knew she wasn't the only one with that same, cold feeling.

She looked up. Black mascara in streams, dripping into the flowing sink. Grey eyes to grey eyes. Long hair – dyed from brown to black – tangling from nervousness and anger. Fingers twitched.

Images of her past flooded her mind.

"Lacey, hun?"

Her body was one whole spasm. The seventeen-year-old turned her head to stare at the white door.

"Y-Yeah, Mom?"

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Lies.

"Okay, I'm going to go pick up your sister from play practice, alright?"

"Yeah," she felt her head bob up and down. Her body was slowly shaking, her breath cold.

"Spenser's bringing home dinner."

"L-Lunch, Mom."

"Lunch! Lunch, of course, my mistake... It's from that nice Chinese place you like."

Another nod. "Okay..."

There was a pause. "...You know I love you, right?"

"...Yeah..." her reply was small, airy.

"Well..." her mother's voice sounded nervous also. "... I'll see you later, Lacey."

"Bye, Mom."

The woman's footsteps began to sound faintly away from the bathroom, and then down the staircase a few yards away. Lacey suddenly stopped shaking, overcome with a sudden wave of vertigo. Figures shifted and blurred, sounds ran together, and everything went cold. She gasped, and then fell down, her left wrist bleeding profusely.

Her heart stopped, and she died.

* * *

**[Insert **_**N.C.I.S.**_** Theme Song Here]**

* * *

"Tony, what are you doing?" Ziva inquired, not looking up from her paperwork.

McGee glanced at his co-worker, but rolled his eyes and quickly returned to his game. Tony – who'd been balancing a thin, number two pencil between his upper lip and nose – didn't seem bothered by her question.

"Practicing," he answered. His hands reached out abruptly to grasp firm on the edge of his desk, moving his chair ever so slightly when needed.

"Practicing what?"

"Balance."

Biting back the retort of, _"Only __**you**__ would need to practice balance, Tony,"_ Ziva replied, "How would putting a pencil on your lip give you balance?"

"It doesn't," Gibbs spoke, entering the area of cubicles and giving Tony his expected dope slap. This made the yellow pencil fall onto the desk with a small clink. Ziva smirked. "Asbury Street."

"Ooh, the rich part of town," Tony said, rubbing his head and getting up before suggestively wagging his eyes at Ziva. She merely glared at her co-worker..

"Robbery, Boss?" McGee asked, grabbing up his bag.

"Nope. Murder," Gibbs responded, his three Field Agents trailing behind him.

* * *

A lush house: three-stories tall, large backyard and front yard, white picket fence, beautifully paved driveway.

Swamped with NCIS agents and police cars.

"I-I'm not entirely sure what happened," a frail-looking woman said to Special Agent DiNozzo. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, her eyes were puffy and red from crying so much: the perfect picture of fear and panic. "I-I come home from work about fifteen minutes earlier, and I went upstairs to tell her that I was heading out to pick up her sister from practice—"

"She in soccer or something?"

The woman gave him a slight glare, her stance changing to mildly-offended. Her hands stopped moving. "No... N-No, she's into theatre."

He wrote something else down. "Sorry to interrupt. Please continue."

"Ms. McCarthy called me on the way home. She was crying, and it was hard to hear what she was saying... She's our housekeeper," the woman answered, noticing the Agent's confused look and pointed behind him.

He checked. Across the lawn, the Israeli officer was interviewing a blonde woman – plump, short, and in near hysterics. He made a face, suddenly happy for himself that he didn't get stuck with _that_ woman.

"Are you sure there's nothing you can do?" Her face was returning to normal, her cheeks now only a deep pink.

A head shake. "I'm afraid not, ma'am."

"O-Oh..." She rubbed her arms a few more times, even though it was quite warm outside. "I didn't expect for her to kill herself!" Her tone was blaming. "Sh-She was always so lively!"

Agent DiNozzo nodded once more. "Alright, I'll need to know any other immediate family members you have, including your daughters."

Being quite honest, he pitied this woman, but he had to do his job before all else.

She took a breath, as if she needed to steady herself. "There's Spencer: he's my husband. And there's Joseph: he's Lacey's and Faith's father... I've re-married twice, Agent DiNozzo," the mother chided when the NCIS agent quirked a brow. "Things didn't work out either times before."

"When was your divorce finalized?"

"July 18th, 1998... I used my maiden name for a while – it's Denheart – until I met Spencer. We got married on August 17th, 1999, so now I'm officially Melissa Denheart-Craig."

"Do you know where your ex-husband lives?"

She shook her head. "All I know is that he lives here in D.C... Faith knows, though; she's been spending the summer with him ever since she was six, and he got custody of her a few years back."

"If your daughter's father has custody, then why were you going to pick her up?"

"She visits two or three times a week to see Lacey and I."

Agent DiNozzo nodded. "She never told you?"

"No. She'd usually walk home, or ask us to drop her off somewhere and she'd meet up with her father later. Or Lacey would take her home, once she got her license. We never bothered asking. Joseph is out of my life, and – quite frankly – I'd rather not have him back in anytime soon."

He opened his mouth to ask another question, but he saw her eyes peer away as another Agent, a female, came up towards them.

"Palmer and Ducky are inspecting the body. McGee is interrogating Mr. Craig, and Gibbs said for us to find her sister," the Israeli spoke coolly, her accent clear in her tone. She, like Tony, felt sympathy, but hers was directed closer to the dead girl's sibling. It would be hard for the young girl to overcome her sister's death, and the woman hoped the matter could be manageable.

"I really want to thank you for doing this," Mrs. Denheart-Craig said, giving a slight smile. It was weak, the two noted. "All of you."

Agent David nodded. "You're welcome, Mrs. Craig."

* * *

Across the yard, McGee and Gibbs stood side-by-side, interviewing the newest spouse. Tall, barrel-chested, and a good head taller than Gibbs, Mr. Craig had a presence of someone you do not throw a water balloon at.

"Now, did your daughter show any sign of ..." McGee paused, thinking of the correct word. "... inner turmoil? A break-up? Bullying at school? Anything that would make her want to commit suicide?"

The man shook his head. "No. We would've known immediately if she'd been scared, or if something was bothering her. You could see all her emotions on her face. Faith's the same way. Melissa and I can tell if one of 'em's in trouble."

"And you're her...?"

"Step-father. Melissa said she got a divorce, little over ten years ago."

McGee jotted something down in a small, black notebook, near identical to the one Tony held. "Alright, we'll need your and your wife's hand prints, to eliminate them from the crime scene. It's a pre-caution that's always taken, don't worry about it."

Mr. Craig nodded. "I'm sure Melissa will comply," (on the other side of the front lawn, she seemed to be doing just that) "but – if I'm accurate – NCIS should already have mine."

Gibbs crossed his arms and raised a brow. Regardless of his stature, the man looked rather sheepish. "I used to be in the Navy. But, even if I wasn't, you'd still have 'em. Got into a lot of trouble when I was younger, did some things I'm not too proud of. That's why I joined in the first place."

"McGee," the grey-haired Agent muttered as he walked away, the 'Probie' Agent following up behind him. Both of them entered the house, the younger man pausing to wipe his feet on the welcome mat.

**

* * *

**

Snap. Snap. Snap.

"Anything, Duck?" Gibbs asked, standing in the threshold of the bathroom. He would have entered, of course, but the examiner and the speaker's assistant took up most of the space by themselves.

The autopsy specialist was scrutinizing the dead seventeen-year-old's body, while McGee snapped pictures of Lacey's body and various areas of the bathroom: spotless while, excessively clean – save, of course, for the large pool of blood which trickled out from the girl's wrist and spilled across the floor.

"I'm afraid not, Jethro," Dr. Mallard solemnly replied. "Most would suspect a suicide, but there might actually be something here, you never do know, of course. Why... I remember, there was a little girl who'd been in a car accident, and she was found dead along with her mother. However, her head remained intact, and I discovered she died from a brain tumor while they were racing towards the hospital."

Special Agent Gibbs nodded quietly, only half-listening to the Doctor's rambling, before he peered out the window in order to spy on Agents DiNozzo and David, who were heading into the backyard. He also saw Palmer heading back into the house with a large, black body-bag.

"However," the older Scotsman continued in a slightly louder voice, "I will need to check this one's medical records to see that everything is in tact. But, the interesting thing most people tend to forget about suicides is that you can always tell if the person is left-handed—" he pointed to the dead girl's left arm. "—or right."

**

* * *

**

Snap.

"Why'd you take a picture of the gate?" Agent DiNozzo inquired, as both he and Agent David walked towards the backyard.

"It wasn't open, Tony."

"It wasn't open earlier."

"Yes, it was."

"Did you see it?"

"Yes."

"Then how—?"

"Tony, would a family with one of the best security systems in D.C., tazers hidden through-out the house, and two guard dogs, allow the back gate open and close at random moments in the day?"

"... Well, there must be a reason," the male Agent said, grabbing the handle to the white barrier. "See, this thing is so simple; it's barely child-proof." He gave his partner a smug grin and pulled.

The gate shook, but did not open.

He turned around to look at the fence, confusion plastered across his face, and tugged once more. Nothing.

Agent David quirked a brow, trying not-so-hard to hide her amusement. "Do you need some help, Tony?"

"No, I got it. I got it." Agent DiNozzo (who was becoming quite frustrated) pushed and pulled at the gate. At one point, he considered gnawing at the lock in order to open it. However, no matter what he did, it wouldn't budge.

His co-worker smirked lightly when he gave up.

"You try," he growled, noting the amused twinkle in her eye.

The female NCIS Agent calmly reached over the gate, nudged the lock up – then left – then back down, before easily opening the gate. Her partner glared at the back of her head as they both walked into the backyard.

It was easy to identify, merely by the layout of the yard, that children lived in the house. Large and full of space, lush with thick grass and different-sized trees and colorful flower beds that surrounding the outer fencing. Death had no effect in this picture-perfect place.

By the patio, two mountain bikes (one blue, one purple) were in the walkway, the blue tipped over halfway into the grass. A well-worn soccer ball lay a few feet from Agent DiNozzo. There was a hammock, hidden beneath two shady trees, nearly fifteen yards away from Agent David. The bulkiest held a tree house and a wooden swing.

On the swing, there was a girl: brown hair, shoulders slumped, feet only skimming the grass, loosely holding the ropes. She looked about fifteen-years-old.

The duo walked over. Agent DiNozzo stood behind her, while Agent David squatted down so she could see the girl's face. A large, studded cross of turquoise hung from her neck on a thin chain.

"Are you Faith Craig?" the Israeli asked.

The girl gave the swing a gentle push with her foot. "It's Winston, not Craig."

"I'm Special Agent David."

"And I'm Special Agent DiNozzo; you can call me 'Tony'. We're from NCIS. That stands for Naval Criminal—"

"—Criminal Investigative Services..." Faith interrupted. "Dad told me."

"Could you tell us where your father lives?" Agent David coaxed.

The girl paused, as if she was considering the question, and nodded. "Doesn't live far from the NCIS building. Three seventeen, Clearview street... Is he alright?" She directed the question to Agent DiNozzo, peering around to look at his face as she asked. Her eyes were large and a deep brown, he noted.

He nodded. "We'll make sure that he is."

There was a short, considerably awkward silence. Then again, what was there to say to a child who just lost her older sister, possibly her best friend?

"Are you going to find my sister's killer?" she asked suddenly.

A short pause was the first answer. The second was, "... Dr. Mallard is taking your sister's body to autopsy in order to find out what truly happened. Right now, we think it was a suicide attempt."

Faith nodded curtly, her face blank. She stared at the blue-and-yellow flowerbed in front of her. "I don't mean for this to sound rude, Special Agent David, but... will it be a while before he finds out? I know my sister, and I'm sure she wouldn't have killed herself."

Agent David thought for a moment. While in Israel, she had seen innocent twelve-year-olds as suicide bombers. "How do you know she wouldn't?"

She turned her head. The girl's brown eyes peered into the female Agent's equally brown ones. The woman noticed something very fragile slowly starting to break in the back of Faith's eyes.

"Because, if she did, I'd be next."

* * *

McGee was performing research on Abby's computers down in the forensics lab. Tony had done something idiotic to his computer, causing it to shut down for a couple of hours. Until the virus died, his computer was null, and that meant he had to borrow Abby's (which, he would tell Tony soon, she was **not** happy about).

He'd been receiving poor results, when there was a small whining noise coming from the window. Ruffling his brow, he turned his head to see what it was.

A small dog, barely tall enough (he estimated) to reach his lower-shin. It was pouting and doing everything in its power to look as cute as it possibly could.

Making the mental note that Gibbs would slaughter him if he attempted to let the creature inside – and reminding himself of what happened lat time he ran into a creature of the similar breed (even though that one had been much larger), McGee heartlessly looked away from the puppy.

The mutt scratched at the window, whimpering pitifully. However, the Agent just rolled his eyes, and it started to bark. When the man's attention was returned to the animal, it did its best to feign innocence. If the matter was logical, McGee would swear on his life that the puppy was giving him an Abby pout.

He quirked an eyebrow and slowly rose from his chair. The puppy grinned, then gave a small woof.

"Sit," McGee called to the animal.

The puppy obeyed.

"Play dead."

The puppy whimpered – as if it'd been given an oh-so-painful medical shot – before dramatically falling onto its side.

"Sit. Stay."

The puppy got up and sat, eyes focusing on the Agent, before it stuck out its tongue and panted happily.

McGee waited a moment, then gave a nod of approval and went back to work, just as the lab door pinged, swishing open to reveal Abby Scuito.

"McGee! Are you still not don – AWWW!"

The field agent nearly twisted his back in order to see what she was squealing about. There stood his Abby, bouncing in place, watching the puppy with adoring eyes.

_Oh God, _he thought.

* * *

"Twenty bucks, Ziva. If it wasn't suicide, the Dad has something to do with it."

"Tony!" Agent David scolded, glaring at her partner as the two of them stepped out of the black car.

"What?"

"If he did it, he probably would have this house guarded too."

Her words held a valid point. The house, much smaller than the mansion his ex lived in, had a comfortable aura surrounding the recently-cut grass and the tire swing in the front yard. A blue van was parked neatly in the driveway.

Agent David was the one who rang the bell. The two of them waited for about ten seconds before the door opened.

It was a man: mid-forties, tall, athletic, with dark brown eyes and hair. It was easy to find several resemblances between him and the remaining girl, Faith.

"Yes?" the man inquired, his brows ruffling in confusion.

"Special Agent DiNozzo. NCIS," Agent DiNozzo said, flashing his badge. "You Joseph Winston?"

He nodded then stepped aside, allowing the two agents into his home.

The living room was clean, save for the low coffee table which was covered with a few scattered TV Guides. It was attached to a half-hidden kitchen, just large enough to hold the refrigerator, washing machine, sink and microwave. Two hallways, on opposite ends of the room, completed the look. One, they assumed, led to the bedrooms, while the other maybe was a laundry room.

"Do either of you drink coffee?" Mr. Winston said, his voice growing fainter as he went into the kitchen. "I can make you just about anything; Christine and Lacey both worked part-time at Starbucks, taught me loads."

Agent David shook her head. She was looking at some of the photographs he'd hung on the wall. However, she noticed that her partner was opening his mouth to speak, so she interjected quickly, "We are fine." (He glared daggers at her.)

"Do you know why we're here, Mr. Winston?" Agent DiNozzo asked, gazing at the tan couch, the matching loveseat, the stack of DVD's neatly packed underneath the television stand.

"Well..." the man drawled, re-entering the living room with a cup of coffee in hand. "I could say that it's because Faith got into some legal trouble, but I'm pretty sure she's not a bad kid... Please tell me I'm wrong."

Agent David nodded. "You are."

"Oh, thank God."

"Lacey is dead."

There was a beat of silence, and the father looked back and forth between the Israeli and her co-worker. His mouth opened and shut like a fish out of water, when he finally muttered, "You're lying. Please say you're lying."

She shook her head. "She's being taken to autopsy in our headquarters right now. I... I'm sorry."

Mr. Winston dropped his coffee, the brown liquid splashing across the floor. He ran his fingers through his already-messy hair. He jammed his hands into his pocket, scolding himself, "This _can't_ be happening. It _can't_ be! I should've _known_ something was wrong! First with Elizabeth and Christine—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Agent DiNozzo interrupted. The single parent gazed upward to see the other man's face. "Who are Elizabeth and Christine?"

"My first two daughters. Ana was our third. Surely, you know this. Melissa told you, right?"

Both of them shook their heads.

Joseph Winston took a deep breath: "We had five kids together... And now that Lacey's dead, Faith is the only one still alive."


	2. Epi 1, Prt 2

**Click.**

Tony pressed a button on the remote to the screen which sat in the bullpen. An older photo of Spencer Craig appeared on the screen. He was in full Marines attire.

"Spencer Craig enrolled into the Navy in 1975—" the typical jokester explained to his fellow team mates. He pushed another button, and a picture of Joseph Winston, Navy uniform and all, appeared beside the first. "—while Joseph Winston joined the Marines a few years before."

"Joseph left in 1980 in order to marry Melissa Denheart," Ziva picked up. Tony made a sort of growl in his throat before pressing another button. The two photos left, and a family portrait of seven took the screen. Melissa and Joseph Winston were there, along with five girls of different age and mixed appearance. "They had a daughter early that next year, and four other girls over the next thirteen, before getting a divorce in 1998."

"The dates? Names?" Gibbs inquired.

"Um," Tony looked at his notepad. "1981, 1986, 1990, 1992, and 1994, boss. Elizabeth, Christine, Ana, Lacey, and Faith. He knew that much, at least."

"And why didn't the mom mention anything about them?"

"Simple," Ziva replied. "They're all dead."

McGee's eyes widened drastically. "What? How is that _not_ important?"

"Exactly," Tony said. "Each of them has died in a 'freak accident' up until today."

"And now Faith is the last one remaining. DiNozzo," Gibbs barked. "you ever find out what happened to 'em?"

"Uhh, no, boss. The dad was never told anything beyond the fact that they had died – he wasn't even allowed to go to the funerals because of a restraining order Melissa placed on herself."

"And the mother?"

"Under the protective custody of the FBI," Ziva sneered. "They pulled a few strings. We can't get near them."

Gibbs swore. "DiNozzo, McGee, get a hold of those girl's death records and anything else you can find."

"On it, boss," the two answered simultaneously.

"Ziva, do whatever you can to get the girl into our custody!" The woman nodded and quickly left the building as Gibbs headed down into the forensics lab.

This entire thing was illogical. All of their children dying? In _freak accidents_? He had to find the dirt-bag causing all of this. And he was **not** going to let another innocent girl die.

Not after he lost Kelly.

* * *

Abby was shifting through the pictures and videos saved on Joseph Winston's laptop. Besides the DNA finger prints, it was the only thing they could use at the moment (neither of the Craig's owned a computer).

She had to admit: Faith's father knew his way around a camera. Although the man didn't know very much about what they assumed were murders, he was willing to speak about what he _did_ know. Each thing he told them was recorded by Ziva or Tony, and she knew it was her job to prove whether or not the man was lying.

From what he said, at some point, there were five daughters – alive and well. During that time, only one of them had a disability, and it wasn't anything to cause death (his oldest daughter had been, as Mr. Winston described, "half-dyslexic".) He was unable to attend any of the funerals, nor was he told how his children died. After his third daughter died, he fought for sole custody for Lacey and Faith: he lost part of the battle, gaining guardianship only of his youngest.

Abby reminded herself that Faith wouldn't be allowed to go home because of this. She wouldn't be able to see her father until everything was sorted out. She shuttered at the notion of Mr. Winston being a cause of the freak accident.

_If you can call them freak accidents,_ the forensics specialist thought bitterly.

Shaking her head, she pulled up another picture as Gibbs silently entered the lab.

"Gibbs!" she cried, startled. "I didn't see you."

Her boss nodded. "Got anything for me, Abbs?"

"Uhh, yes and no... I've been checking through Joseph Winston's hard drive, nothing. I've also been skimming his Internet history and email: he's been trying to contact different private investigators in order to find out what happened. Every time," her expression suddenly changed to something mischievous. "he's been stopped by the FBI."

"Who are now protecting the Craig's."

"Exactly. But, he did get Faith to say some things about her life while staying with them." Abby's fingers raced across the keyboard as she retrieved a specific video she wished to show her boss. Once it popped up, she leaned back and let it run.

It was dark, and outside it appeared to be thunder-storming. A seven-year-old Faith sat on a bed, hugging a teddy bear and wearing one of her father's collared shirts (the hem touched her feet).

Within the first few seconds, Gibbs thought of Kelly. There was one night when she, being about five at the time, ran into his and Shannon's room, screaming and crying, afraid that "the monsters" were going to harm her. He made a mental note to personally throttle the dirt bag who was killing Faith's siblings.

"_Daddy?" _the small girl in the video spoke, pulling Gibbs back to the present. Her eyes were too large for her face, just as they were now, and she was biting her bottom lip.

"_It's alright, Faith. Just talk to me,"_ a soothing voice – Joseph Winston's voice – said from behind the camcorder. _"And don't bite your lip. You'll make yourself bleed."_

The child in the video released her lip, but remained quiet for a few moments.

"_Talk about what?"_

"_Anything you want."_

Another pause. She started to rock herself back and forth, clutching her bear so hard that Abby began to worry its head would soon fall off.

"_Can I talk about Spencer?"_

"_Of course."_

"_And Mommy?"_

"_Her too."_

"_Spencer's mean to us. 'Cept Ana, he likes her. He smokes lots, but only 'round Christy. And he talks to weird people on the phone."_

"_How are they weird?"_

"_Their voices. They sound mean. Just mean."_

There was another pause, then Mr. Winston inquired, _"What about your mother, Faith?"_

"_... Mommy's mean too," _she mumbled, a pout thick in her voice. _"She yells at me and Lacey, 'cuz we're little and she says we need to remember our moves easier."_

Abby stopped the video, just as Gibbs asked, "Do you know what she meant by 'moves', Abby?"

The cheerful goth nodded and began to key through Joseph Winston's hard drive once again. "There are a bunch of photos of the girls on this computer, **all** of them."

She pulled up a folder labeled, _Competition Shots_. Inside, there pictures of different horse riding exhibitions, theatre shows, modeling features, and beauty pageants.

"These kids were show girls?"

"Sorta. Look," Abby walked over to the metal table and pointed to five newly-printed photos: all of them were of a Winston girl. Different as they looked, each girl was pretty. Gibbs shuffled up behind her.

"Thankfully, Joseph Winston was good at organizing his work and labeled the faces for me. But what I'm about to say came only from the photos I found; there might be more. This one was Elizabeth, their oldest." She pointed to the first picture: tall, long blonde hair, cobalt eyes, dimpled grin. Seventeen, he presumed. "Horseback riding. This one—" The second picture: average height, curly blonde/brown, cobalt eyes, a small crook in-between her two front teeth. Sixteen, at most. "—was Christine, the second. She's the only one who didn't do any sort of competition."

"None?"

"None."

Gibbs nodded once.

"And this one was Ana." Abby pointed to the middle picture: average height, curly blonde hair, small light blue eyes, an arrogant aura. Looked about eighteen, nineteen. It was a professional head shot. "Look like anyone your know?"

"She looks just like her mother."

"Very good, Gibbs! There's more: this girl right here," she tapped the photo with her nail repeatedly. "was only in beauty pageants, but she competed in more than any of her sisters combined."

Gibbs' scowl only darkened as he pointed towards the remaining pictures. "And the last two are Faith and her sister... Were any of these girls forced, Abby?"

"Probably. Your guess is as good as mine. Sure sounds like it though... Hey," she called as her boss began to exit. "did you guys bring back any of these trophies?"

"Trophies?" Gibbs' hand rested on the threshold of the lab, his head sticking back in. "I never saw any trophies."

Abby growled. "There might be something in their rooms, Gibbs! Nobody from that other team brought me back anything with any of the fives' fingerprints."

"Amateurs," was the only answer returned, and the former Marine stalked out of the lab.

There was utter stillness for a complete ten seconds. Then, having been given an adequate amount of time to understand that her boss wasn't returning, Abby practically sprinted into the other room in the lab.

McGee entered the lab a moment later. His friend was standing in the second room, not dancing or doing anything else typical of her fun nature. No music was playing. She was just... _standing_ there.

And she seemed to be talking to someone. Cooing, almost.

_It couldn't be Gibbs,_ McGee ruled out immediately. Usually when Abby was talking to their boss, she had on her head-set and made gestures with her hands. When she spoke to her 'babies', she looked right at them as she talked.

Yet, her back was turned against them.

"Abby?"

"McGee!" she squealed. Something was knocked over in the other room. A puppy barked several times, and Abby scolded halfheartedly, "Hush, Tim!"

The Field Agent groaned, setting down the prints and DNA samples of the parents, step-father, and remaining child onto the table. "Abby, you didn't name that thing, did you?" If she had, and Gibbs found out – especially if his boss learned it was him who discovered the animal, he'd be dead.

"Of course I did!" she cried. McGee could hear the pout in her voice; he saw it when she walked over to him. "I couldn't just go around calling him _dog_ or _puppy_, could I?"

"It's not that, Abby. We're not supposed to have it at all."

"A boy."

"What?"

"This puppy is a boy: a he, not an it."

She was given an eye-roll. "It doesn't matter—"

"It matters to me!"

"—to Gibbs! He'll kill us both if he sees it – him," he rephrased quickly, seeing the death glare the forensic specialist gave him.

"He will not. Gibbs'll love little Tim," Abby said softly, giving the Corgi in her arms Eskimo kisses as McGee appeared flustered.

"Why me?"

"What?"

"Why did you name him after me?"

"Because you found him! ... Don't you like him?" She was giving him another famous pout: the one where she could make him do just about anything. To be honest, it made the black-haired, pig-tailed NCIS Agent cuter than the abandoned puppy.

"He's cute, I'll give him that."

Abby grinned. Something suddenly registered in McGee's mind.

"Abby, are you feeding him?"

"He's hungry!" she snapped, her voice completely disapproving towards starving a growing animal.

"Yes, but with a bottle?"

This was true. His co-worker and once girlfriend was cradling the small puppy to her chest like an infant, while feeding him some water through a baby bottle.

She scowled at the Welsh Corgi's namesake. "It could be worse, McGee!"

He opened his mouth to retort, but the Agent closed it almost at once. She had a point. It _could_ be worse: knowing Abby and her love of all things cute and cuddly (especially puppies), she probably would breast-feed the thing, if that was possible... or legal.

The lab door pinged once again, and the two heard footsteps. Please don't be Tony, McGee thought, just imagining the smug look on his friend's face if he saw the puppy Abby held. He didn't need to turn around to see it.

"Um... sh-should I come back later?" a shaky voice inquired.

Oh.

Palmer.

Alright then.

"No, Palmer, it's okay," Abby replied, her voice sounding exasperated. "What do you need?"

"Uh, Dr. Mallard wanted to know if-if there were any pictures of the dead girl – the one in the autopsy lab, not-not all of them," his words, quick as they were, often needed to be repeated once or twice from nervousness, "and he asked, if you did, could you—?"

"Print 'em out?" the forensics specialist grinned. "I'll fax them over A-SAP."

The autopsy assistant nodded once and turned to leave, but glanced back curiously. "Does Gibbs—?"

"Good-BYE, Jimmy," McGee snarled through clenched teeth, and Palmer scampered out of the lab faster than what Abby thought was possible for Ducky's gawky protege.

At the door's ping shut, the little Corgi woofed and squirmed so he could reach and lick Abby's face, who grinned and laughed.

"Abbs—" McGee interfered, using his _I don't think that's a very good idea_ tone of voice, even though his facial expression said _I don't want to have this conversation_.

"Fine!" she snapped, gently handing the Field Agent his namesake. She started to shift back through what little evidence she currently held, while he just stood there stunned, holding a puppy who began to lick at his face.

* * *

Gibbs sat at his desk, toying with the computer as he tried to write up a report for Vance. He didn't notice when Ziva entered the office from the stairway, now with the remaining girl in custody. (The younger brunette was about 5'4", he noted, making her slightly shorter than Ziva.) Tony, however, looked up from his work and peered at them as the two walked into the bull pen.

"Hey, Ziva. Mission accomplished, huh?"

Ziva only nodded. "She was at the theatre."

"Again?" Tony looked confused. "Your mom said you'd already gone to practice today."

Faith nodded. "I did. But today was also my scheduled costume fitting. I left it there."

"What are you doing, anyway?"

"WICKED, Tony," Ziva interjected. "It's a musical."

Tony made a face.

"Have you never seen it?"

"I'm into movies, Zi-va." He stretched her name the way she hated it. "Not plays."

"It's supposed to be based off the book, but it ties in more with the movie _The Wizard of Oz_." Faith said, noticing how they were starting to glare at each other. "I play Nessarose, The Wicked Witch of the East."

"So they drop a house on you?"

Faith shook her head. "No... but I do get to be in a wheelchair." She sounded happy about that prospect.

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs barked suddenly, and the younger agent jumped.

"Yes, boss?"

"Shouldn't you be working?"

He appeared flustered for a moment, before Tony went back to his computer. Ziva grinned and, seeing that Faith was watching her boss with a slightly worried expression, cleared her throat.

Gibbs looked up curiously.

"Special Agent Gibbs?"

He redirected his attention to the little girl. "Yes?"

She appeared a bit nervous, but managed to get out what she wanted to say, "Would it be a violation of any sort of rule if I wanted to go see my sister?"

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "Do you know where autopsy it?"

There was sensitivity in his voice; he could easily tell how frightened she was, but not without good reason. A new environment, worrying about whether she'd see her parents again, or where she'd be taken, and her sister had just died. He also knew that, if he'd had the chance to see his Shannon and Kelly before they'd been buried, he would've taken it in a heartbeat.

Faith shook her head. "No, sir... But I'm sure I could manage well enough."

She received another nod, and the former Marine rose from his seat, grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair as he stood. "I'll take you."

The girl appeared surprise that the outwardly-crusty NCIS officer would do a thing so nice, but she kept quiet and followed him into the elevator. Right before the door pinged shut, she felt Gibbs grasp her shoulder protectively.

**

* * *

**

Ping.

Gibbs escorted Faith into the large autopsy lab and immediately saw Dr. Mallard examining the dead 17-year-old with great care. Palmer, who stood at the end of the table, was writing down what Ducky dictated onto the clipboard's paper. The specialist was standing at his assistant's upper-left and what-would-have-been Lacey's right side. He picked up the left wrist at the other end of the table, inspected it, and spoke,

"Abrasion of the skin on the underside of her left wrist. A clean wound, perfectly straight, about... two-and-a-half inches in diameter..."

"Dr. Mallard?" Palmer questioned, finally realizing the stony boss and the child he'd led into the room.

"Yes?" Ducky looked up to see who his assistant was speaking of. "Ahhh, Jethro! And a visitor." He smiled, hoping to make the girl comfortable, and was rewarded with a smaller, weaker one. (She looked queasy, but he attested that to the odor of corpses.)

"Are you Dr. Mallard, or Mr. Palmer?"

"I would be Dr. Mallard, my dear," Ducky replied, reaching his hand out to her. After giving Gibbs a slight glance for approval, she walked over to the table, and two hands met above the body. "Jimmy is over there."

"Hello." Palmer, too, was given a handshake.

"Would it be alright if I watch?" Faith inquired, peeking down at her dead sister. It was, notably, naked and a sickly, whitish cerulean only corpses can retain.

The autopsy specialist nodded. "We're already gotten the more gruesome part done; that usually seemed to make people a bit queasy." He made a gesture to Lacey's chest, with a long pinkish _Y_ sewn-up across it. "I see no harm in it."

"What happened, Duck?" Gibbs asked, walking closer to the body. Faith's eyes were switching back and forth between the two cuts on her sister's body: the one Dr. Mallard made, and the one that killed her.

"Ah, yes, yes... About the body: she was in excellent health when she died – no sign of drugs or injury, aside from the puncture on her wrist," he pointed to said injury, which he personally had sown up.

"So she committed suicide?"

Faith looked up from the body at the last word, her eyes glassing over.

"That's what it looks like, I'm afraid."

Faith's eyes traveled to the floor, then back to her sister.

"However, I found this," Ducky picked up a small specimen jar: there was a fragment of a razor inside. "in her wrist. Jimmy is going to send it over to Abigail along with her prints."

Palmer, who'd been making notes on the clipboard, gazed up suddenly when his name was said, nodded and took the jar from his mentor, then headed out of the room.

There were a few moments of silence, and the autopsy specialist sighed. "I'm sorry, my dear."

The girl's lips pursed. "I have a question."

"And I'm sure I will have an answer."

"When someone decides to kill themselves, this way," her index finger gave a slight point to Lacey's wrist. "they put what they're gonna use against their not-writing hand, am I right?"

Ducky nodded. "Yes. Sometimes, though, the other hand will be used, but the wound looks awkward. It makes dying slower..." his voice trailed off.

"Lacey was killed then," Faith said quickly.

Both Gibbs and Ducky raised their eyebrows.

"And how can you be so sure about that?" Gibbs asked her.

"This was straight, and my sister is left-handed," Faith answered gravely. "She couldn't have done it herself."


	3. Epi 1, Prt 3

**Squeeeak. Squeeeak. Squeeeak.**

Faith Winston slowly edged the rolling chair left to right, forcing the rickety chair to make noise. She had been told my Officer David to sit in the yellow meeting room, although she had been expecting to be shoved in an interrogation office. It was dark outside, past ten o'clock she'd been told, and she was having trouble staying awake, forcing her left knuckles to hold her head high. She also guessed that she wouldn't be allowed to go home, though she couldn't think of anywhere else to be sent right off the top of her head.

Life was becoming worse by the second.

Agents DiNozzo and David observed the youngest Winston from the threshold. The squeaking had stopped, she shut her eyes for a moment, only to jolt herself awake then relax again.

"Is she alright?"

"She is tired, Tony," was her simple answer. "It is understandable... Gibbs isn't handing her over to social services, is he?"

The male shrugged. His first answer would have been _no_, considering that someone was probably going to target her next – and soon, but his boss had surprised him before.

Speak of the devil...

"DiNozzo, Ziva," Gibbs muttered, sauntering down the hallway, a cup of fresh coffee in his hand. "Any news?"

"The Craig's resisted having their house searched," Ziva said, "McGee and I are going over there tomorrow with a search warrant."

Gibbs nodded in approval. "Bring back any kind of competition memorabilia you find."

"Competition?"

"Their kids are show-girls."

Ziva gave him a vague nod. "Ah."

"Boss," Agent DiNozzo began, looking a bit sheepish, "I've scoped the Naval database for any sign of them: the only file I found was on their middle daughter, Ana, because she was the only one Spencer Craig legally adopted."

Ziva sneered. "Four of them were still living when he married! Why would he do that?"

"Why don't we ask him? Oh, wait. He's under the FBI custody," Tony hissed.

"DiNozzo."

"Sorry, boss. The Marine database was a _little_ more helpful, but it only gave an ID profile. _But_, I do know this: **none** of the girls were legal when they died."

Ziva's eyes widened, but Gibbs asked, "How. Did. They. Die, DiNozzo?"

"Nothing was given. That's when I went to Metro PD, uh... they had files on the three girls before this one, but they were removed upon request _of a family member_," he winced at Gibbs' irritated expression and curse. "No trace of them."

"When?"

"Sometime in January, I think. Same thing happened to NCIS files."

A loud comical-sounding THUMP came from inside the meeting room, and the three of them peered inside. Faith's head was now on the table. She was sound asleep, left arm perched awkwardly in the air.

Tony felt himself grinning, and Ziva appeared concerned. However, she smirked wickedly when Gibbs dope-slapped Tony for chuckling at the young girl's expense.

"If you think that's so amusing, McGee can take over finding information. You have a new job, DiNozzo."

"What is it, boss?" Tony smiled, but this quickly faded when he saw that his boss was nearly smiling himself.

"Protective custody."

The younger male did a double-take and began to stammer, but Gibbs half-glared at him and almost re-smacked him. After a moment, the Senior Field Agent admitted defeat. "Yes, boss."

Gibbs nodded and motion for Ziva to follow him back to the bullpen. "And don't wake her, DiNozzo!"

"Got it, boss," he grumbled to himself, walking into the large yellow room. He stood silently for a few seconds, observing the sleeping girl while trying to make sure she was truly asleep. Her curly brown hair spilled over her shoulders and on the table, and he could see how deeply she was breathing. (However, this didn't stop him from moving the air-borne hand in several amusing directions before easing it onto the table also.)

He could just leave her here. Then again, if he did, Gibbs would strangle him for leaving her in the NCIS building along AND for not doing his job.

So, Tony had two conclusions to get her out of her safely: one, sling her over his shoulder like a sack and pray she didn't wake, or —

* * *

"Uhh, Tony?"

"Don't go there, McGeek."

McGee, who had returned to his seat to pack up and leave after helping Abby, only nodded. Ziva bit the end of her pencil to keep from laughing. Tony was carrying Faith bridal style; her head was resting against his left shoulder and upper chest, her face utterly peaceful. Her backpack was slung over his shoulder.

Gibbs glanced up from his paperwork, his expression mild, before gazing back downward. His lip twitched upward. "Good choice, DiNozzo."

Tony gave a half-smile, half-sneer at his boss, unsure of whether or not he was joking or being honest. Ziva continued grinning at her co-worker similarly to the Cheshire Cat, and he made a face in her direction.

A familiar pig-tailed forensics specialist popped up from the right side of McGee's desk, scaring him as she strode quickly over to their boss. "Gibbs, I – Awww, Tony! That's so sweet!"

"Abbs—" Gibbs tried to distract.

"Are you taking her home?"

"Abbs—!"

"She's in my protective custody, Abby," Tony mumbled in answer.

"So you are taking her home? With you?" she peered at her friend curiously, as Ziva bit down on the pencil harder. "It's a good thing she's wearing jeans then."

"Abbs!" Gibbs snapped, and Abby spun to look at her boss. "Why are you here?"

"Oh, yeah! Well, I finished searching through Joseph Winston's computer – boy, it was not easy, let me tell you... Anyway, I found out—" she handed him the few papers she'd brought with her. "—that, every time he hired private investigators to find information about his children, he was stopped by the FBI. _And_, each time, it was the same agent. AND, this agent happens to be Spencer Craig's best friend... They went to the same college." she nodded smartly, as if going to the same college as someone else meant you were their best friend.

"Uh, Abby?"

"They also had a double wedding," she added quickly. "Same day, church, time. He and his wife died in a house fire a couple years back, but he still might have connections with the FBI in order to—"

"—weasel himself out," Gibbs finished. "McGee, in the morning—"

"—find anybody the Craig's have worked with for the past 12 years. Got it, boss."

"Ziva, you got that search warrant?"

"Of course."

"Good. You and I are going to search the house tomorrow."

She nodded and reach to grab her coat, as Gibbs turned to Tony with a half-exasperated stare. "Aren't you supposed to be going somewhere, DiNozzo?" The Agent's boss looked pointedly at the girl the Senior Field Agent still held in his arms.

Tony had yet another double-take, before saying, "Yeah, on it, boss," and headed to the elevator, Faith in tow.

As soon as the moving doors pinged shut, the four shared a mutual grin.

* * *

"Thank God you're not heavy," Tony mumbled to himself, helping the still-sleeping Faith out of the passenger seat of his car. She wasn't thick, probably part of being a show-girl (as Gibbs put it), and this made it easier for him.

He led her inside the apartment building – and, of course, receiving a few odd looks from a few other boarders, to which his only reply was, "She's my niece."

Somehow, Tony managed to get his key into the door while still holding her _and_ without waking her up, a feat he thought deserved an award of sorts. The apartment wasn't huge: it had a bedroom, bathroom, and a space to lounge and eat; he figured, since the kid was already asleep, he'd have her sleep on the couch until he could think of something else.

"She better not snore," he mumbled to himself, remembering Ziva's habit as he set her on the temporary bed. He took her necklace off her neck and set it on the lamp stand nearby – if Faith moved at all in her sleep, she probably would've crushed it.

Thinking it a bad idea to attempt to watch a movie, he shuffled to the real bed to catch a few Zzzz's.

* * *

There was a solid tap to the forehead of Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo. It wasn't harsh, just barely enough to wake him. Then there was a quiet call of, "Tony? Are you alright?"

His gaze was blurry for a moment, but he opened his eyes to see his house guest sitting on the side of his bed. She looked a little worried, and the cross was returned to its rightful place: around her neck.

"You were talking and groaning like you were in pain. Like you had a hangover," she whispered, just in case he was half-drunk.

Tony shook his head and creaked out of his bed. "'M not drunk."

"So you're okay?"

"Fine, yeah, I'm fine. You know what time it is?" He headed to the bathroom.

"Your clock said 0630."

Tony quirked an eyebrow at her, resting his hand on the threshold between the conjoined rooms. "Do you usually wake up this early?"

"Um... I woke up at 0500." She twiddled her thumbs at his incredulous expression. "I had a nightmare, and I-I was too scared to go back to sleep."

"Oh," there was a slight pause, as if he was trying to think of something kind to say, before his body decided for him. He walked towards the sink, then his voice rang out, "Hey, am I the only one who smells bacon?"

"No, that's good. I figured, since you probably don't get to eat in a lot – and you've been nice enough to take me in for the night, I might as well cook breakfast as a thank-you."

There was a mumbled response from the bathroom.

"...Excuse me?" Faith inquired.

She heard a loud spit; Tony must have been brushing his teeth. "You can cook?"

"Yes, sir. Dad likes making things, and he's taught me how over the years."

There was no reply for another couple of seconds, then the Agent poked his head back into the room, grinning as he asked, "What'd ya make?"

Faith giggled. "Bacon, pancakes, and some hard-boiled eggs."

"What are we waiting for?"

* * *

The elevator pinged opened as usual, and Special Agent DiNozzo and his charge headed to the bullpen. McGee was searching on his computer and, by the look on his face, it seemed to be semi-fruitful.

"How's it going, McGee?"

"Alright, you could say," he replied. "I've gotten a hold of the hospital records, so I'm going out to pick those up in a few minutes... Other than that, some help would be welcoming."

"I could try to help," Faith piped up softly. "What's the problem?"

McGee appeared flustered. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, but only sputters came out as answers.

"This," Tony interjected quickly, hoping to distract her, "is McGee's job, Faith. It's what he gets paid for. You don't need to worry about it."

"And you're trying to find _my_ sisters' killer," she replied. "Don't I, at least, have the right to know what's going on?"

There was a short pause, and the duo tried to think of a logical answer, when Abby – using Gibbs' normal nature – popped out of nowhere and replied, "She has a point, you know."

"Abby," McGee started, his voice border-line chiding.

"What? It's true. Gibbs would agree with me."

"And he's out with Ziva right now, searching the house," Tony said.

"They won't find anything."

The three turned to look at Faith, who'd just spoken automatically.

"What?" McGee managed to ask first.

"Special Agent Gibbs and Officer David won't find anything," she repeated, sitting down on the edge of Agent DiNozzo's desk. "Not if they don't look really close. That's the way Mom had the house organized: _you don't know where to look, you won't find it_."

"How much do you know?" Abby interjected quickly. "About your family, your sisters, anything that could help us."

"I might be a kid, but I'm not stupid. I want to help."

* * *

"Gibbs," their boss answered on the first ring.

"Boss," Agent DiNozzo's voice rang through the cell phone. "We know where the pageant stuff is."

"Where, DiNozzo?" Gibbs and Ziva were walking through the house, having already found nothing. Any kind of help was needed.

"There's a blue hallway near the backyard."

There were a few moments of silence, save for the sound of footsteps.

"Alright."

"There should be a figure of some sort near you."

"It's right here, Tony!" Ziva quipped, her foot near a Chinese beast.

"One of its eyes is a button." That was a noise in the background, a female speaking. It sounded blurry, until the phone was brought to the person. Her next words were clearer: "The left eye."

Ziva furrowed her brow but pressed it. A sudden previously-hidden ladder fell from the ceiling. It was sturdy, polished medal, and led into an attic.

"Everything should be in there, boss." Tony again.

"DiNozzo, how'd you figure this out?"

"McGee probably did it," Ziva muttered, ascending the ladder.

"You won't believe it, boss, but we had everything we needed right from the start."

Gibbs too rose up the ladder. The hidden room was filled with trophies, medals, competition photos of all sorts. Newspaper clipping scrapbooks, specific dresses from shows. They had a good deal of proof in this room.

"How did you figure it out, DiNozzo?"

"Faith. She remembers everything."

Ziva spun to gaze at her boss incredulously.


	4. Epi 1, Prt 4

Down in the forensics lab, Abby – who'd been given several trophies with different names – was working for fingerprints and any other kind of identification, while Faith – who'd been put downstairs with her – watched. She sat in a wheelchair that Abby had found in a supply closet, and the puppy version of McGee sat in her lap, affectionately having his ears rubbed.

"You must be pretty excited to be in such a good role in WICKED," Abby told her, smiling brightly. She was honestly trying to make the girl feel more comfortably, but she did think it was cool the Winston girl got to be in such a well-known production.

Faith nodded. "I've already learned all my lines, too."

"So you like performing in the theater?"

Another nod. "Yeah, but this is the only one I'm going to do, I think. I like pageants better... I remember I used to _hate_ doing them when I was little. Mom would always force me and Lacey to do stupid routines. If I asked to change something for the better, she'd get mad. I hated how she controlled me."

"So she did force the two of you?"

"Yeah, 'til Dad filed for custody. Lacey dyed her hair black so it'd be easier to tell the two of us apart. She didn't want to do it anymore, and she fought back."

"And your dad never did?"

"Nah, he trusted me. He let my creativity run, and I went farther on my own than I ever did with Mom... I actually have _fun_ now," Faith smiled.

Abby nodded and set the partial-fingerprint she found on the razor blade in Lacey's wrist into the AFIS machine, then inquired, "Do you think she forced your other sisters?"

"Yeah. I know she never did with Ana; she was 'little miss perfect'," Faith raised her voice to falsetto and made a face. Abby laughed. "The rest of us didn't like her too much. She was my sister, and I love her for that reason, but she was a snot... Elizabeth only did horse-shows, and that was only because Dad said if she didn't like it the first time, she wouldn't need to do it again. Kinda like eating veggies, huh?... But Christine didn't do any."

"Why's that?"

Faith shrugged. "Dunno. She was smart and complained to Dad, I guess. Mom gave up, and Christy became a candy-striper."

"You really do know a lot about your sisters."

"They're my sisters. Why shouldn't I?"

"Well, you were really little when they died... We assumed you wouldn't remember much..."

Faith suddenly became somber, and the lab became quiet for a few minutes.

"Hey, Abby?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you keep a secret?"

"Sure." The pig-tailed forensics specialist spun away from her computer and looked at the girl. "I'm a wonderful secret-keeper." It was a lie, and she knew it. "Tell me anything."

"You guys are really going to try to find who's murdering my sisters?"

Abby nodded.

"And who might come after me?"

"We're not going to let them lay a finger on you," Abby said fiercely. "Is that what you're worried about?"

"No... Not really..."

Faith leaned down suddenly to set the puppy McGee onto the floor and began to shift through her backpack. She pulled out three files: one was small, labeled _Christine Winston_; the second was normal-sized and was labeled _Elizabeth Winston_; the third was rather thick, the tab saying _Ana_ _Winston_. She held them out to Abby, who took them, recognizing them immediately as files from Metro PD and NCIS.

"I took these in January. You need them more than I do."

* * *

Upstairs, McGee stood from his work station and, after grabbing several sheets of paper from the nearby printer, walked over to his boss' desk. "Boss?"

"Yeah?"

"I think I got something." The geek handed the former Marine the paper, continuing, "They're bank statements, from the Winston family's accounts. I figured, since they're kinda rich, someone might be trying for money."

"Good thinking, McGee," Tony complimented, abet with slight sarcasm dripping in his tone. "Are you right?"

McGee gave him a mild glare. "When one of the girls was born, their parents opened a trust fund."

"Most parents do that, Tim," Ziva replied.

"Yes, and when each one died, whatever was there in the account was moved to the next daughter's. Between the three – now four – transactions, there's over $800,000 missing."

"Wait, wait, wait... _Over_ eight-hundred _thousand_ dollars?" Tony asked incredulously. "And-And you're sure about that, McGee?"

"Yes, I am," McGee nodded. "I checked it twice... They're trust funds, Gibbs," he turned his attention back to his boss. "The only way the money could be moved would be during the transactions; every time money was taken out, there's a statement needed to sign. Banks keep a copy of those."

"Address?"

"Alright got it," McGee held up a slip of paper.

"Good. Give it to Ziva so she can pick up the forms."

McGee nodded and handed the sheet to a rising-Ziva, who grabbed her jacket. "Are they labeled under 'Winston' or 'Craig'?"

"Four are under Winston; one's under Craig."

The Israeli nodded and walked to the elevator as Gibbs headed down to Abby's lab.

* * *

Faith had managed to wheel herself all the way to the doorway just as the boss came down from above.

"Hello, Special Agent Gibbs," she smiled and nudged the chair backwards, allowing him to get through easily. She thought he almost smiled back at her when he passed.

"What do you have, Abbs?"

Abby gave him a grin. "From the stuff you gave me, or she did?" She nodded her head towards Faith, who was moving herself closer towards the two adults, not wanting to be left out of the conversation.

Gibbs raised an eyebrow at the young girl.

"Abby's been asking me some questions," Faith responded, then shrugged. "I've just been answering."

"Which is fan-tas-tic," Abby interjected, making both of them smile. "I found some fingerprints attached to the newspaper clippings and awards: nothing outside the family."

Her boss nodded. "What'd you find on that shard Ducky pulled from the body?"

"There was a partial, but it was too small to give any kind of identification. But, thanks to Faith," Abby turned around the passed the girl; both of them exchanged a high-five, which Gibbs rolled his eyes at. "I finally have some evidence and a story to what happened in The Winston Murders."

"Sounds like a novel in Tom E. Gemcity's crime series," Faith said, turning the chair on a dime and rolling towards the two.

"You read those books?" Gibbs asked quietly.

Faith nodded. "Uh-huh. They're my favorites. Lacey liked 'em too."

Abby gave the girl a quiet smile as Gibbs nodded with a somewhat thoughtful expression.

"I was beginning to wonder," the woman interjected, diverting their attention back to her, "just how the girls – your sisters –" she gestured to Faith, who smiled slightly, "were dying without any red flags going up. They didn't."

She pulled out the three files the girl had given her earlier, taking the one labeled _Elizabeth Winston_ and handing it to her boss, who began to finger through it. "Only one girl was out-rightly murdered, but two deaths were investigated."

"And this one was...?"

"They called it accidental. She got bucked by her horse. But I did find this," she gestured towards the back of the file, to which Gibbs flipped to. "They have done two investigations. They took the stomach contents, since something like that hadn't happened on the ranch ground; she was drugged."

"The girl?"

"The horse. The company which sent the apples had shipped a drugged crate. There were other horses which, just as easily, could've been fed from that same barrel, but only Elizabeth's horse was found drugged. Both the company and the ranch shut down shortly afterwords."

"So it was murder."

Abby shrugged. "I'm getting the company's and ranch's faculty records at the time of closing, for a background check and to see where they could've gotten the drugs."

"And the other investigation?"

"Outright murder. Sexually assaulted and killed by her boyfriend in their house... He's serving life; they took him off death row last year, since he said it was consensual but he was paid to kill her. He refused to state who gave him the money or idea."

"I'll send Ziva down to the prison, once she gets back, to see if we can get an answer out of him."

"Mallory," Faith chimed in suddenly. The two adults looked at her strangely, so she elaborated: "I-I just remembered. Her name, the horse, her name was Mallory. Elizabeth loved that horse... Sorry."

Gibbs nodded slightly. "And the third one?"

"Lung cancer." Abby picked up. "She didn't have it long. All of it had been caused by 2nd hand inhalation."

Gibbs suddenly got down on a knee and looked the young girl in the face. "Do you remember anyone close to your family who might want your sisters dead?"

Faith's brows furrowed together, before she shook her head. "No. Most of the people Mom and Spencer associate themselves with are also wealthy..."

"Greed, maybe?" Abby thought aloud, and Gibbs, standing upright, began to exit the lab.

"Keep it up, Abbs!"

Once the elevator pinged shut, the two females exchanged a knuckle bump.

* * *

Ziva returned nearly two hours after she had initially left. She was carrying a large box, half-way filled with papers and manila files.

Tony raised both of his eyebrows at the sight. "Just how many cuts did they take out of the trust funds exactly?"

Ziva slammed the cardboard down, hard, onto her co-worker's desk. (He jumped at the sound.) "This box includes any kind of transactions the Winston-Craig family has made within the last thirty years. We need to find where that $800,000-plus went."

"And how it was taken out," McGee interjected, standing up and walking over. "This seems like quite a lot for them, even if they're rich."

"You'd be surprised what some rich people will buy, McGee," Tony muttered, picking out a folder from the stack. "For instant: a ranch house in Virginia. Bought in 1990, resold in mid-2000."

"And another in Montana. Bought – " McGee peered over Tony's shoulder to see his sheet. " – a month before that one was sold, then resold in early 2003."

"So they moved after the murders were committed," Gibbs, who sat calmly at his desk, cut in.

"Looks like, boss," McGee murmured, quickly scanning several papers at once.

"And I'm afraid I can't help you," Ziva headed back towards the elevator. "I'm off to prison," she called behind her. When it pinged open, she stepped out of the way for Palmer and Faith to exit, then entered herself.

"Wonder how many times she's made that joke," McGee muttered to himself, and then noticed as the duo entered the bullpen – and Palmer, who had been nothing beyond an escort (it was a rule: when in the NCIS building, all non-members of the staff needed to be with a member, with no exceptions), left seconds later – that she looked almost sick. "You okay, Faith?"

"I'll be fine," she answered, her voice quiet. "Elevators make me kinda queasy. It'll pass... May I ask you a question?" She referred the second half of her sentence to Tony, who was fingering quickly through papers.

"Of course," was the reply, though he didn't look up.

"Is there any way I could go see my sisters' graves?"


	5. Epi 1, Prt 5

Ziva returned shortly after Tony and Faith left. She seemed confident, but mildly sick.

McGee gave her a sympathetic expression. "How'd it go?"

Ziva didn't reply. Instead, she turned to Gibbs and said, "Spencer Craig paid him to kill Ana Winston."

* * *

Special Agent DiNozzo and Faith were quiet as they walked back to the car.

The grave site was on the very outskirts of a typically unused cemetery, hiding under a shady tree. Five graves were there, three with death dates, and Tony had stood next to the person whose name was on the last marble slab.

And, the whole time they were there, the little brown-haired girl didn't cry.

"Tony?" The teenager's voice brought him back to the present.

"Yeah, Faith?"

She gave him a slight smile. "Thank you."

"Don't worry about it."

Several loud gun shots went off at once, and he heard Faith scream. Grabbing onto her shoulder and making her duck behind his car (which he did also), he whipped out his gun and stood at the ready, whipping his head 'round to look for the perpetrator.

There was nobody.

"Faith," he breathed after several seconds, "are you alright?"

No answer.

"Faith," he turned around. The Winston girl was gone.

Tony stood up and, still holding his gun, spinning around frantically. "Faith! FAITH!"

* * *

A few yards away, out of the eyes of the Special Agent:

"Why aren't you a pretty thing?" the man purred. She was up against his chest, back to front so she couldn't see his face. His breath smelled like Mentos, tobacco, and black coffee.

Her entire body was shaking. She knew she would have to die someday, but – if she had to choose – she didn't want to die like Ana.

_"Faith! Faith!"_ she could hear Tony yelling. She wanted to cry back out to him, but the man whispered, so close his lips touched the crest of her ear,

"Say one word, and I'll make sure he never finds you. Alright?"

He pulled her harder against his chest, lifting her to her tip-toes, to make his point. She gave a slight nod, wanting so much to sob.

"Good."

The man began pulling her along, still in front, out of the sight of the busy street and into the nearby woods. Faith allowed herself to look back. As she saw the Agent vaguely through the forest, a faint tear rolled down her face.

And, in her mind, she thought, _"I'm sorry, Tony."_

* * *

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